


Hello, Love

by Slytherin_Princess_Nysa



Series: GoT season 8 alternatives [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arya and Gendry carried this whole season, F/M, Gendry is a Baratheon, Gendrya - Freeform, Happy Ending, I don't know a season 8, I saw the leaks for the finale and I hate it, POV Gendry, Post-Season/Series Finale, Surprise Ending, david and dan are personally invited to square the fuck up, except 8x02, that shit was gold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 03:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18865030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherin_Princess_Nysa/pseuds/Slytherin_Princess_Nysa
Summary: Months after the war is over, even longer since the last time he saw Arya, Gendry is trying his best to be the Lord his people deserve. He learned to read, to write, to use a fork properly, but he never stopped loving his wild wolf. Never stopped waiting for her. Until one day, he stops waiting.





	Hello, Love

“Is that all, Maester Claye?” Gendry asked the maester. His head was thumping loudly but he continued to nod his head as the maester placed more scrolls and thick stacks of parchment on his desk.

He had been learning to read and write with Maester Claye for the past three months, it had been awkward and uncomfortable at first. Gendry stumbling over the same sentence over and over again and Maester Claye patiently showing him how to do his letters. He still wasn’t the best at writing and Maester Claye often read over any scrolls he wrote. Gendry’s reading was much better, he could read through an entire page without stopping and that made him prouder than anything else in Storm’s End. It was something that he had practiced and learned.

“My Lord, this is all you have to do today.” Gendry almost slammed his head onto the desk when he realized that it wouldn’t matter if he did clear his desk today, tomorrow it would all reappear, and the day after that. On and on, until the day he died.

“Thank you, Maester Claye.” It was mechanical- his pleasant and respectful voice, his straight posture, his kind smile. All trained into him since coming to Storm’s End. Maester Claye smiled gently, waiting to be excused and Gendry waved him away before he reached to grab the first scroll on the stack.

It was a request from one of the lower lords in the Stormlands, asking for a few more knights to take care of a bandit problem on the road. It was a formal request for Lord Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End. A title that made him more angry than proud.

Because none of it mattered- not the legitimization, not the title, not the lands, not Storm’s End, not the money or the power.

He pushed away from the desk harshly, suddenly angry that Lord Gendry Baratheon was staring at him in print on every scroll, echoed back at him by every person coming to Storm’s End. He walked to the large window that overlooked his lands. That’s what they were, his.

For the first time in his life, Gendry had something to his name. He was a Baratheon of Storm’s End, the Lord of the Stormlands and it was his. The lands and the people. His to protect, to provide for, to spend his life serving. And Gendry hated himself because he knew that if _she_ was there and she asked him to give it all up for her, he would in a heartbeat. He wouldn’t even consider anything else, everything he had was hers. Even if she wasn’t there to claim it.

 _“That’s not me,”_ she had said when he was on his knees.

He was ashamed to say that after she rejected him he had gone back to the forge and taken his frustration out on a piece of metal that used to be a sword. He wasn’t angry that she had said no, Arya was always wild and spirited. Gendry was angry with himself for ruining the best thing that had ever happened to him. He had passed out in the cramped cot in the back of the forge, drained and still woozy from the wine at the feast.

The next morning he had gone to look for her, to apologize, to tell her that he didn’t want a proper Lady, he just wanted her. He didn’t want a Lady with dresses and manners and who enjoyed embroidery. He wanted Arya with her dirty trousers and holding Needle and her rare smile that brightened the whole room. But she was gone.

He had searched the hall, the training yard, the Godswood, the little alcove where she liked to practice her archery and even the forge. It wasn’t until he overheard Lady Sansa questioning the stable boy that he realized he wasn’t the only one unable to find Arya. He had joined Lady Sansa in her search for Arya- they had questioned a handful of folk milling around Winterfell before reality came to a crashing halt.

Arya was gone. Leaving Winterfell with the Hound for King’s Landing at the crack of dawn without telling anyone.

At first he had felt guilty, had she felt pressured to be someone she wasn’t because of him? Did she leave because he had said he loves her and it had been too soon for her?

Then he felt furious, how could she just leave without saying goodbye? Hadn’t she missed him while they were apart like he had missed her? How could it be so easy for her to leave him and her family behind?

And after that had passed, all that was left was worry. The Queens forces would be attacking King’s Landing as soon as Jon and the Northmen joined them. Arya would be in a city rampaged by half a dozen different armies and a fully grown dragon. Her only protection being the Hound, and while Gendry knew she was an incredible warrior, it was too much for one person to fight their way through.

Jon had told him that she survived, but the Hound didn’t. Gendry hadn’t felt relief like that since he found her again in Winterfell after years of missing and worrying for her. But Jon had crushed him when he told him Arya had taken the first ship to Essos.

 _“She said she needed to find a life away from revenge,”_ Jon had whispered solemnly.

And for months, Gendry had continued to hope. Hoping that one day she would ride through the gates of Storm’s End and she would stay with him. Then all of it would be worth it- the headache inducing paperwork everyday, the annoying maids who bowed too lowly when he entered a room, the letters from other Lords asking if he would be interested in meeting their daughters and nieces and granddaughters.

Gendry always responded the same to those, a polite but steel solid ‘no thank you’.

“You know,” a low voice drawled from behind him and Gendry’s head whipped around to face the door. “I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a terrible friend.”

And there she was. Wearing her travel worn trousers and a loose tunic, her leather jerkin was unlaced and hanging on her shoulders like a coat. Arya’s hair fell past her shoulders, untied but tucked behind her ears. His eyes dropped her her hips where Needle was hanging and he almost smiled at the sight.

“Why do you say that?” he asked, his hands fisted in the hem of his tunic as he turned fully towards her. More to keep himself from grabbing her than to keep the shaking at bay.

“Storm’s End hasn’t had a proper Lord since Renly Baratheon and in all that time, the Stormlands have been overrun with bandits, thieves, rapers and murderers.” Arya explained as she stepped closer to him. Gendry could see her eyes roaming over him and he felt self conscious suddenly. Like he was that same hungry and angry boy she had met on the road to the Night’s Watch. “And I’ve left you here to deal with everything, all alone. See? A terrible friend.”

She was close enough to touch now and Gendry forced his hands to stay at his side. Her grey eyes were molten and Gendry tried not to read too much into what he saw on her face. Love, he thought. He didn’t want to scare her away again, now that she was in Storm’s End it would only hurt worse if she turned and left.

“So, you’ve come to patrol my lands and purge the bandits and the thieves-” Arya’s hands dug into the collar of his shirt and she yanked him to her height, in her regular grace. Gendry’s arms wrapped around her waist, his eyes watching her face.

Her lips turned up into a small smile but it was the hope shining in her eyes that calmed him. She wouldn’t leave. “I’ve come to tell you I love you and that I’m sorry.”

“Arya,” Gendry’s voice cracked and his eyes took her in again. Could she be real? It seemed too good to be true, seemed too good to happen to Gendry. Arya Stark was wrapped in his arms telling him she loves him.

“I do, I love you.” Arya said sternly, pulling him closer, until his forehead could drop to press against hers. “You’re my best friend. You protected me when I was too young to realize running into danger wasn’t always the best idea, you were with me in Harrenhal, and when we were separated I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” Gendry watched as her grin grew and he returned it in kind.

“When we met again at Winterfell, it was like a dream. Jon, Sansa, Bran _and_ you?” Arya’s fingers fiddled with the soft fabric of his tunic, righting the invisible wrinkles under her hands. “I couldn’t be that lucky, and then the dead came and I was so scared that I would lose one of you. That’s my curse, you know, I always lose the people I love.”

His arms tightened around her and she stepped an inch closer, but still keeping distance between their chests. “You aren’t going to lose me.”

“I really hope that’s true.” Arya muttered under her breath, her teeth worrying her bottom lip and Gendry couldn’t remember the last time he had ever seen her look nervous, before speaking up. “I have something to tell you.”

Her eyes watered and she shook her head to clear whatever was bothering her. Her hands dropped from his neck and Gendry’s heart stopped. “What’s wrong, Arya?”

Her hand squeezed his, her calloused fingers playing with his. She gently pulled his hand towards her, resting his palm lightly on her stomach, her little hand shaking as she held his to her. “I was on a ship to Braavos,” her voice was soft but Gendry couldn’t look away from their hands on the space between her hips. “I thought I was seasick. And then I got to Braavos and it kept happening and I couldn’t blame the sea anymore.”

Gendry’s hand spammed over the whole of her stomach, his thumb brushing one hip and his pinky finger the other. He could feel the bump under her tunic. On someone taller and more curved it would have been just a small roundness of the stomach, easily could have been mistaken for too much food. But with her small frame, Arya’s stomach was obvious without the loose fabric of her tunic covering the swell.

Arya was growing heavy with his child. His baby.

Her chin shook and she sniffed, “Please say something.”

It was so unlike her, to look scared and uncertain. Gendry hated the look on her face, like he could ever turn her away. Baby or not, everything he was belonged to her and now their baby. A child he had only known of for a handful of minutes but he was already willing to die for. He could see a little girl with Arya’s untamable hair and his deep blue eyes, shooting with a bow in the courtyard and beating anyone with a practice sword he would gift her. Or a little boy with storm grey eyes and the whip smarts of his mother and the want to work with his hands, to create something, like his father.

He’d never thought about children before reuniting with Arya. He could never see himself as anything more than a blacksmith, surviving to the best of his abilities. Then Davos had come and brought him to Jon and Gendry had thought it was the best way to honour Arya. Serving her favourite brother. But then there she was, in Winterfell, just as snarky and wild as she had ever been. But she hadn’t been the girl with the choppy hair he remembered.

She was a woman grown. A beautiful warrior princess of the North. And he had begun to fall in love with her the second she had smiled at him in his forge.

Gendry’s legs felt like pudding and he dropped to his knees in front of her. His hand was still on her stomach, marveling at the small life they had created together. A miracle that tied them together for the rest of their lives. And as much as he hated the idea of ever being away from Arya again, knowing they had a baby made it a nightmare to even _think_ of being away from them. From his little makeshift family.

“I love you,” Gendry whispers up at her, watching her eyes water. “And I love this babe. More than anything in this world.”

“I don’t want you to think that I came back because I want anything from you. I can take care of myself and I can take care of our baby.” Arya said, pulling him up to tower over her again. She smoothed the leather of his shirt subconsciously.

“No!” he shouted and Arya jumped, startled. “I mean, no. You are never alone, especially not in this. I grew up without my parents and all I ever wanted was to have a family. My baby-” Gendry grabbed her face lightly, rubbing her cheekbones. “Our baby, Arya, will never wonder who his or her parents are. They will never go hungry, never have to do anything they don’t want to do, never be called a bastard.”

“Are you proposing again?” she chuckled and her hands reached to touch his face.

Gendry nodded. “Not because of the baby, but because I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

This time he didn’t ask on his knees because he knew she wouldn’t have wanted that. Arya was his equal- in a lot of cases she was his superior. She wouldn’t want him on his knees, treating her like any other woman.

“I’ll be your Lady, as much of a Lady as I can manage.” she started, “I don’t wear dresses and I’m never going to give up riding and fighting. I don’t like being called ‘my Lady’ and I hate when people bow and curtsy at me like idiots. I don’t sing, unless you’d like your ears to bleed. I don’t sew or mend clothes, and if you ask me to, I’ll stick you with Needle. But if you want me,” her hand dropped to her stomach, “If you want us, then I’m here. Your Lady.”

“You wouldn’t be my lady,” Arya’s eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. Gendry dropped his forehead to hers. “You would be my family.”

* * *

Their wedding day had the worst storm Gendry had ever seen. Not that Arya minded that most of the guest couldn’t make it because of the harsh rain and wilds. Her family had arrived a week earlier and her cloak and dress had been ready for weeks so, to Arya, it was perfect. No strangers from distant Houses pretending they were there for something other than to carry favour with the Baratheon name.

Sansa had frowned when she had seen Arya’s rounded stomach but the expression quickly disappeared when Arya subconsciously ran her hand over the bump, Gendry loved when she did that. It always put the most ridiculously blissful smile on his face when he saw her. Sansa had quickly ordered Arya’s wedding gown to be taken out at the waist.

Jon had glared at him and cornered him in his study, a noise too close to a growl coming from his throat until Gendry had told him that he wasn’t scared of him because Arya could tear him to shreds if she so wished. Jon had gripped the hilt of his sword, studying him before sighing and clasping his shoulders.

“If you ever hurt her,” he had said. “I will kill you. I don’t care if you’re Lord of Storm’s End or the King of the Seven Kingdoms, she’s my little sister.”

“You’ll have to get in line behind her.” Gendry deadpanned.

Before Jon could respond, Arya had burst into the room, screaming about her trousers not fitting over her belly and how there was no way in hell that she was wearing dresses for the next few months until the baby came. Gendry had had to calm her before she used the dress Sansa was offering to choke her sister. When he had managed to convince Sansa to tell the seamstress to make Arya trousers with a wider waistline, Arya had stormed off in a huff. Sansa had promptly told him that he had inadvertently called Arya fat.

When both had disappeared, Gendry had turned back to Jon, “I keep telling myself it’s the babe making her more sensitive, but then I realize maybe she’s just ready to kill me.”

“Knowing Arya, if she wanted to kill you, she would run you through with Needle sooner than she’d play mind tricks.” Jon leaned back on Gendry’s desk. “You should probably go apologize or something.”

“Probably a good idea,” Gendry muttered as he strolled through the halls towards his and Arya’s rooms. Arya was sat on the bed, clutching her wedding dress, her maiden cloak was thrown over the chair in front of the fireplace.

“I never wanted to get married when I was young.” Arya said, her fingers playing with the stitching on the hem. “But when I thought of my wedding, I didn’t picture my Lord Husband like Sansa and Jayne did. I didn’t picture the dress or the feast or what colours would replace my maiden cloak. I pictured my family. My father walking me to the heart tree, my brothers and mother standing at the front, my sister surrounded by her perfect children.”

“Arya,” Gendry sat beside her and brushed her hair behind her ears.

“But they’re gone now. Father, mother, Robb, Rickon.” Arya set aside the dress and turned towards him. “Bran is King now but he’s still not Bran, he’s something else now. Jon lives beyond what’s left of the wall. Sansa is afraid of men touching her.”

“They may be gone but they’re still with you. They’re in your eyes,” his thumb brushed the underside of her grey eyes. “In your smile,” a gentle touch to the corner of her lip. “In your laugh, in your heart.”

Arya’s head dropped to his shoulder, her voice small. Gendry’s arm wrapped around her and pulled her closer. “I still feel so alone.”

“You aren’t alone, Arya.” his fingers played with the ends of her hair as he whispered against the top of her head. “You have Jon, Sansa, me and our baby.”

Arya pulled closer to him, tucking her legs over his lap, like she was trying to disappear into his side. “I don’t know how to be a mother.”

“I don’t know how to be a father.” Gendry said softly.

She shifted, her nose brushing the underside of his jaw. Her hands playing with the ties of his shirt. “We’ll figure it out together, won’t we? How to be parents.”

“Of course, we will,” Gendry kissed the top of her head. “We’re in all of this together.”

“I love you, stupid bull.” Arya grumbled.

Gendry grinned and hugged her impossibly closer. “I love you, too, wolf.”

* * *

Gendry was nervous at he waited under the heart tree.

Jon and Sansa had said they wouldn’t mind a wedding in the sept, that their parents had married in the sept at Riverrun, under the new gods. But Gendry knew it meant a lot to Arya to marry under the heart tree, even if she scoffed when he said it. Gendry didn’t know which gods he believed in anymore, he had seen the Others. That, among other things in his life, had shaken what faith he had left- chipping away at it, little by little. Now, all he had was the belief that he and Arya would watch out for each other until the end.

The storm was growing strong but Gendry had ordered the servants of Storm’s End to pitch a series of white sheets over the heart tree. Forming a tent with interlocking layers in different shades of white and lace and silk. Perfectly imperfect, just like Arya and Gendry. Everything about them was messy and loud and improper but perfect.

When he heard the coming steps, his head turned involunatrily to stare at her and Jon as they walked slowly towards him. Gendry’s heart beat frantically against the cage of his ribs. Arya was beautiful, surrounded by the lit flames of the candles inside the tent. The glow bouncing over her flushed skin and melting her usually steel coloured eyes into the molten silver he so loved to see. Her hair was in a simple knot at the base of her neck, loose chocolate strands framing her lovely face.

Her dress was simple, a deep blue colour that Sansa had said matched his eyes and a thick strip of white fur over her collar and shoulders. She didn’t wear any jewelry and he could see Needle held behind Jon’s back and suppressed a grin. It was just like her to look like a Lady but have a sword a metre away.

She moved like water, fluid and light. Even with the bump on her stomach, Arya was the most graceful person she had ever seen. He wondered if she would be that graceful still when their babe had rounded her stomach and doubled her size. He couldn’t help but grin at the thought of watching her stumble around careful because she couldn’t see her feet.

They exchanged vows and Gendry couldn’t look away from her eyes. Those wonderful eyes that revealed every emotion and ever thought she had to him, even when she tried to hide it. When Arya leaned in to kiss him, the small group of Stormland knights, Lords and her family cheered. Gendry’s heart felt too full.

Arya’s lips were warm and pliable underneath his. He swallowed her soft sigh, his arms wrapping around her waist to pull her into him. It felt like lightning traveling through his body as her hands slipped around his neck. The small pressure of the baby against him made him smile against her lips and Arya’s eyes fluttered open, her fingers smoothed along his cheeks.

A mischievous glint fell into her eye and Gendry’s brows furrowed before she leaned to whisper in his ear. “Milord.”

“Don’t call me that,” he groaned.

“As you wish, milord.”

* * *

Their son was born in the middle of the night.

Gendry had run into the hall, screaming at the first pair of guards he found to collect Maester Claye and bring him back to his chambers before ordering a maid to bring fresh sheets and water for his wife. When he returned to their room, Arya was covered in sweat and withering on the bed in pain. Gendry hurried to the bed and slipped in behind her, pulling her back to his chest and wincing when she crushed his hands with hers.

He shushed her gently, rocking her slightly as she screamed. The doors to their chamber where slammed open but Gendry couldn’t be bothered to look up. All he cared about was Arya and their baby. It wasn’t until that moment, holding Arya as she cried and screeched, that he realized his baby could take Arya from him. Gendry was quite tall and broad, even as a baby from what he knew and Arya was half his size.

“My Lord, you should leave.” Maester Claye said as he ordered two women to rip the blankets away from the bed and bring a tub of hot water into the room.

“I am not leaving my wife and child,” gritting his teeth as Arya clutched his hands tighter, willing him to stay with her.

He could tell from the look on the Maester’s face that Gendry wasn’t supposed to want to stay with Arya in this time, he imagined Lords usually waited outside for their baby to be paraded about like a prize. But not him, he and Arya were in this together and while he couldn’t share her pain, he could be there to hold her and give her comfort.

It felt like days, the screaming and crying and the breaking of his heart every time she squeezed his hands. He hated the pain she was going through, and all he wanted was for the hurt to go away and for Arya to be okay. With a final piercing howl of pain, Arya dropped back into his chest. Gendry stared at the bloody bundle in Maester Claye’s arms, fear striking through him when the room remained quiet.

“Why isn’t my baby crying?” Her voice shook in panic. “What’s wrong with my baby?”

“Answer her!” Gendry ordered.

But Maester Claye didn’t have to, a shrill cry broke through the air and Gendry could feel all the weight from the world fall away and he could breathe again. The Maester cleaned the baby before he walked back towards Arya.

“It’s a boy, My Lady, My Lord.”

Arya snuggled the boy into her chest and Gendry pushed away the fabric covering their baby boy’s face. His eyes were closed and he had the smallest nose and ears Gendry had ever seen. He reached towards his son’s hand with a shaking finger, the whole of his hand wrapped around his index finger and squeezed stronger than any child Gendry had ever known. Of course he would be the strongest child, he was part wolf and part bull.

“Hello, sweetling,” Arya laughed when the baby’s eyes opened to look at her, Gendry felt tears prickle in the corner of his eye. “I’m your mother and this is your father.”

“Hello, love,” Gendry wiggled his finger and kissed Arya’s temple.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who have never been pregnant or spent a great deal of time with pregnant women, like me, feel free to google how big a woman's stomach gets around three months. Because I didn't know and had to rewrite a chunk of this when I googled it. Maybe I should start spending more time with pregnant women?


End file.
